


mortal city

by pantsoflobster



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Background tim, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Canon Asexual Character, Everything's Fine AU, First Dates, First Kiss, I have wanted to write a mortal city fic about them for so long, M/M, Pre-Season/Series 01, Song fic, a bit of an only one bed situation, dar williams is the soundtrack of my psyche, for now, jonathan sims is a mess, this song is a failed ritual for the lonely I s2g
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:41:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28234860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantsoflobster/pseuds/pantsoflobster
Summary: A frozen disaster of a blind date turns into something quietly promising in the dark of a snowstorm blackout.A story based heavily on the song Mortal City by Dar Williams.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 26
Kudos: 171





	mortal city

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place in a world where they meet before they transfer to the archives and Jon is way nicer than you might expect lol 
> 
> If you’ve never heard [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KFkgXUqEJPY&ab_channel=DarWilliams-Topic), do me a favor and go lay in bed, close your eyes, and just spend seven minutes feeling cold and tenuously hopeful. I’ve never heard a song that feels as much like feeling cold actually feels like  
> 
> 
> I never understood in this song why everyone has to turn off their power to give it to the hospital bc maybe i’m dumb but I didn’t think that’s how power works  
> So rather than grappling with that concept its just a black out

It was a disaster, really. Not just tonight, which hadn’t even begun yet. It was a disaster that Jon ever got in his head that London would be a good place for him to move to on his own. The last three months had been more miserable than he ever anticipated, but what did he expect moving to a new city in October, just in time for the dismal, dark of winter to come and leech hours of sunlight from the days? Just in time to watch droves of people he didn’t know and never would prepare for holidays he didn’t care about with people they loved, with practically no one to turn to himself. 

He’d talked to Georgie some since he moved, but it wasn’t like it was. Of course not. She regarded him with a trace of disappointment these days, and he never knew what to do to take that away. 

At least he had the job. It was odd, and he wasn’t always clear on exactly what he should be doing, but Tim and Sasha were way nicer to him than he deserved. They were the only hope he really had of making any friends here. He knew he didn’t show it properly, but he was grateful. They gathered around his desk to chat, knowing he’d never think to stop by theirs, invited him out to lunch, and he even acquiesced when they dragged him to pubs on Thursday nights, as was their weekly tradition. 

That burgeoning friendship, however, was exactly what brought him to tonight. This was the night he planned to have his first date with a man Tim set him up with, a friend of his who worked in the library at the Institute. It was his first date in a very long time, in years, it had to have been. He’d have felt wildly unprepared under the best of circumstances, but he unfortunately didn’t even have that liberty. 

Tim really did have good intentions, as much as it drove Jon up the wall. It didn’t matter how much Jon insisted he was just not a blind date kind of person. Tim really seemed to think he was onto something with this. 

“He’s just about the nicest guy I know,” Tim swore, laying his whole arm across the sticky pub table, palm upturned to convey his sincerity. 

“You must not like him that much or you wouldn’t be subjecting him to being set up with me,” Jon said. 

“No, that’s why I think it might be perfect,” Tim said. “He’s just the right amount of bastard, too.”

“You just said he was the nicest guy you know.”

“Yeah,” Tim argued. “He’s a bastard in a nice way. You’ll like him if you let yourself.”

“What does that mean?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I just mean if you don’t immediately sabotage yourself into ruining a perfectly promising connection, you might actually get somewhere.” 

Jon squinted at him, his hands wrapping tighter around his pint glass defensively. “What makes you think…” He trailed off, losing conviction in the face of Tim’s pointed look. He didn’t know him very well, but Jon could tell Tim actually had him there. “Fine.” 

So he let Tim share his number with the guy, whose name was Martin, and waited to see if anything would come of it. It was midmorning on Friday when he received a cheery message from him, introducing himself and poking fun at Tim’s matchmaking efforts in all the right ways. It made Jon’s breath catch in a way he wasn’t used to, the sharp thrill of a potential new romance. It struck him as a particular childish feeling and Jon couldn’t tell if that was accurate or if he simply hadn’t felt that way since he was much younger. 

He was acutely aware that he and Martin were in the same building, filled with a fear that if he responded before Martin left work, this man might try to meet up with him in the Institute before the end of the day. So he waited until a reasonable time after business hours, after he’d retreated to his own flat, and then typed up a response introducing himself. 

They exchanged a few texts, pleasantries and all that, how Martin liked working in the library and how Jon liked working in research. Martin came across as overly friendly in his messages and Jon didn’t know how to match that. He was so welcoming and eager to get to know him, more than anyone else he’d met in London. He found himself thinking it might not be so bad to go on a date with him after all. How bad could one date be? 

Jon felt as if he’d been possessed when he looked down at his phone to find he’d actually invited Martin to dinner. But not at a restaurant, oh no. It would appear he asked Martin to join him at this very wretched flat on Saturday evening, which was less than 24 hours away. Jon barely knew how to cook. What kind of self-respecting adult offered to cook for a first date only to serve nothing but pasta with creamy tomato sauce that came in a jar from Sainsbury’s? 

But Martin accepted the invitation with zeal, offering to bring something to contribute to dinner if he could. Even when thrown that lifeline, Jon inexplicably refused, thinking perhaps he’d be able to piece it all together and make something work that would be simultaneously attainable and highly impressive to have done himself. He remembered what Tim had said about self-sabotage. This probably wasn’t exactly what he imagined. 

Jon’s flat was by no means fit for company. He’d barely had the time to go searching for furniture, even though he knew there were several perfectly eligible pieces waiting in the storage unit where all his grandmother’s effects had gone when she died. He just couldn’t bring himself to go through the hassle of bringing them here. 

So his plan, as it appeared, was to have this man come sit on some mismatched chairs around his poorly-constructed Ikea coffee table while they ate flavorless pasta and talked about what, exactly? Absolutely brilliant. 

It was simply divine providence that Saturday saw London stricken by the most uncharacteristic blizzard he’d witnessed in his life.

At any point during the day, Jon could have texted him to reschedule for a time when the weather was more forgiving. But he hadn’t, and Martin hadn’t contacted him either, so he had to assume they were still on. It was far too late to cancel now. The time they’d agreed on was just nearly an hour away. 

And then the cherry simply landed on top of the whole ordeal with a flicker and a click as the power in his flat blinked off and stayed that way.

Jon stood in place for a solid two minutes, staring into the dark with a spoon in his hand. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t have the poor man over like this when the flat itself was awful enough. He already had no furniture, and now Jon was going to have them sit around freezing in the dark?

Martin was meant to arrive in twenty minutes and still hadn’t said a thing about a change of plans, but maybe he wouldn’t show. Maybe he thought it was understood that no one was going out in this weather, but with how communicative he’d been until this point, Jon thought he would have at least made mention of it if that were the case. He grabbed his phone and drafted a text. 

_I should probably let you know that my power has just gone out completely. I’d understand if you’d like to reschedule._

He quickly sent it off, feeling a rush of tenuous calm with the encounter off his plate. Maybe any hope of a connection with this man was salvageable, and they could plan to have a normal first date on a normal day, somewhere else where his first impression of Jon didn’t have to be his awful, empty flat and subpar cooking. He set his phone down and went about gathering a sad collection of half-used candles in the meantime. He barely stepped away for a moment before his phone buzzed with a reply. 

_yeah, looks like the whole street has if not more. i’ve actually already left and i’d guess my flat is out too. are you still up for company? might be more fun than both of us sitting in the dark alone!_

Jon stared at his phone dumbfounded. Of course, Martin’s power was probably out, too; he only lived a few streets away. And he’d already left, set to be perfectly on time, if not early. The minor relief he’d started to feel from the potential of cancelled plans wavered as it became clear this guy wasn’t going down so easily. It would feel pointedly rude if he tried to wiggle out of it again. After all, the man was already trudging through the storm to get to him. He simply couldn’t ask him to turn back now.

_You’re probably right. Let me know when you’re here._

Jon barely registered typing and sending the words, sealing his fate for good. A prompt response returned. 

_see you soon!_

Well, fuck. 

Jon shuffled through every drawer and still-packed box shoved into the closet for whatever sources of light he could find, coming up with a few odd candles that must have been unwanted gifts and a torch with dying batteries. At least his phone was mostly charged and would probably last the night. He dug through his bedroom for as many extra blankets as he could find, dumping them in a heap in a chair in the living room. The heating in this apartment circulated poorly on a good day, and without it, the drafty windows let the chill come pouring in. Before long, the entire flat would be a meat locker. 

All too soon, there was a knock at the door. 

Tim had shown him photos of Martin the other night, so he knew he was much taller, much larger than himself, and also rather adorable. He’d given Tim no more than a passive hum and a nod, but folded far too easily when pressed thanks to the drink in his hand. Just to stop Tim’s pestering for more of a reaction, he snapped that he thought Martin was “very cute.” 

Nothing could have prepared Jon for what the man looked like on his doorstep after braving a snowstorm to get there, bundled in a thick woolen coat, a scarf that looked to be handknitted, and a hat with a little orange pompom sat on top. The scarf was still wrapped tight around his chin, obscuring his mouth and leaving only his fogged up glasses visible on his chapped nose. His full, freckled cheeks looked like the type prone to blushing and they were already stung beet red by the wicked weather. 

Jon felt immediately out of his depth, having met him with a jarred candle in his hand and clutching a blanket around his shoulders, staring speechless. 

“Hey,” Martin said, extending a hand. Before Jon could take it, he gave a small, “Oh!” and withdrew the hand to shove down his scarf off his mouth and tear the glove off with his teeth. He quickly grabbed it away and proffered the newly bare hand again. “I’m Martin.”

“Yes, I know,” Jon said, taking his frigid palm and shaking it firmly, briefly.

“Oh,” Martin laughed. “Of course you do. Sorry for the cold hand.” He removed it to take off his other glove, shoving them and both his hands into his pockets. 

Jon fully forgot what was supposed to happen next, his mind a whirlwind of words he might say, all shouting over each other leading Jon to choose none of them. 

After a moment, perhaps too long, Martin awkwardly pointed inside the flat. “Can I come in?”

“Oh!” Jon said, quickly moving aside. “God, yes, sorry. Please, er…”

He watched with looming dread as Martin entered his dark, dismal flat and looked around. Jon saw his eyes fall on the furniture, or lack thereof. Aside from the beat-up coffee table and couple of chairs, it was mostly stacks of books acting as haphazard stands here and there. Jon kicked himself when he noticed a day old, half-full cup of tea festering on one of them. 

“You don’t have to come up with any pleasantries,” Jon said. “I know it’s a dreadful place. I hope not to stay long, but it’s just what I found for now.”

Martin shrugged. “Well, I’m sure it’s sort of cozy when the lights are actually on. And the location’s not half bad for getting to work, yeah?” 

“I suppose,” he said. “But… not much to say for the flat itself.”

“You just moved though, didn’t you?” Martin said. “You’ll settle in.” 

“I--I hope so.” 

Jon stared while Martin continued to glance around, seemingly fixated by the titles making up one stack of books that held up a currently useless lamp. 

“I’d ask if I could take your coat, but I imagine you might want to keep it on,” Jon said. 

Martin then turned to look at him, his hands still stuffed in his pockets. “Oh, yeah,” he said, and then he reached up to unravel his scarf. “I can do away with all this, though.” He plucked the hat off his head and revealed a head of voluminous curls, bent every way possible from being tamped down on his journey over. 

Martin then pointed briefly towards Jon. 

“You look like an old-timey ghost or something, all wrapped in a shawl and sneaking around by the candlelight,” he said. 

Jon laughed, setting the candle back down on the counter and checking the label. “If old-timey ghosts carried around candles from M&S, maybe.”

Martin grinned, looking pleased that Jon had returned his joke. 

Jon then gestured toward the tiny kitchen, practically just one corner of the whole living area. 

“Um, I’m not much of a cook, so I’m honestly not sure why I--anyway, I made pasta. It’s--well, fortunately, I made it before this happened. It’s probably gone a bit cold now,” he said, rushing in to find plates and utensils. “I tried to keep the lid on, though.” 

Martin smiled again, a warm, lovely thing. “I’m sure it’s great.”

“We’d better eat it now, anyway.” 

Martin leaned against the counter as Jon plated up two helpings of the pasta, attempting a bit of casual chatter.

“It kind of felt like another time altogether out there,” he said. “If I hadn’t been using my phone light to see where I was going, I could convince myself it was the 19th century or something. Turned it off a couple of times just for the novelty.”

Jon laughed at this, finding himself tickled by the highly romanticized notion yet at a loss for a witty response. They fell into a brief silence until Jon held a plate out for Martin to take. 

They turned to the living area and Jon groaned. 

“I haven’t got a sofa yet, or a… kitchen table, so…” 

He set his own plate down on one of the stacks of books and cleared some of the blankets he’d tossed there earlier off the other chair. 

“It’s a pain to find furniture. I get it,” Martin said. 

“I don’t really have guests. I’m really not sure why I thought this would be a good idea, but…” 

“We’ll make do,” Martin said, sitting himself in one of the chairs. “I’m pretty easy to please.” 

He was so utterly understanding that it put Jon on edge, and his face wasn’t even quite visible enough in the shadows to scan for traces of dishonesty. He _sounded_ genuine, but Jon couldn’t stop himself from feeling like a complete disappointment that Martin was simply humoring.

He stabbed at the pasta on his own plate. 

“This is… a very underwhelming meal. I’m sorry.” 

Martin laughed around a forkful of spaghetti and waited an awkward moment while he chewed before he spoke. “Jon, it’s really fine. I appreciate you cooking and having me over anyway.” 

He could almost hear Tim’s voice in his head telling him to stop selling himself short, even if it was all true. That was no way to present yourself on a first date. What was this man expected to see in him if he only brought up his shortcomings? 

Unfortunately, confidence wasn’t really in his vocabulary tonight. “But it’s just pasta.” 

Martin shrugged, twirling some more around his fork. “Pasta’s pasta. Pasta is good.” 

They chatted while they ate, elaborating on both their jobs at the Institute more than they had over their text thread. By the sound of it, Martin rather liked the library. It was quiet and solitary but let him meet almost everyone at the Institute, as people spanning all departments popped in here and there frequently. 

As they talked, something struck Jon about the man, something oddly familiar that he couldn’t put a finger on. He eyed Martin curiously. 

“We haven’t… met before, have we?” 

“No,” Martin said. “At least, I don’t think so.” 

“Good,” Jon said. “I--I just mean, you seem familiar and I would have felt very rude if we had met and I’d forgotten completely.” 

“Well, you’re safe on that front, because if we did, I’ve forgotten it too. And I don’t think I’d have forgotten you.” It was punctuated by a soft, pleasant grin. 

The man’s smile was utterly disarming, but not in the way Tim’s was. It was sweet and genuine and it left Jon feeling so at ease that the ease itself quickly turned back on him with bared teeth, dangerous to trust. But he wanted to keep this man talking, wanted to hear the sweet lilt of his voice continue to fill the stale, biting air and watch the way his face moved in the flicker of candle light. He _was_ cute, but he was also beautiful, and Jon longed to see him in the light of day so he could better understand how all the soft, curving lines of his lips and cheeks and nose came together around his bright eyes. He briefly imagined shining his phone light in his face for a moment just to get a glimpse of it. 

Their conversation carried on long past the point where their plates had been emptied and placed on the table by the little cluster of candles, allowing them both the free hands it took to clutch blankets around themselves. Jon was terrified of the point where the meal was officially over. He had no clue what was supposed to happen then.

Martin was actually the one to initiate the shift, and it all too quickly became clear this would spell the end of the night for good and Martin would leave and Jon would be alone in the cold. Martin stood from his chair, grabbing both plates off the coffee table and nodding his head toward the kitchen.

“Should I just put these in the sink for now?”

“Oh,” Jon said. “Yes, yes. That’s fine. Thank you.”

Martin deposited their dishes and then meandered over to the window to peer out at the persistent storm. 

“Christ, it’s coming down out there, huh?” he said, tugging his blanket tighter around his shoulders. Jon took this as a cue to join him, a brief reprieve keeping him in his company just a little bit longer. He sidled up beside him and stared out at the insistent white shower, rendering the view obsolete. Not that there was usually much of a view on a clear day, just the brick wall of the building next door. 

“So,” Martin asked, the pitch of his voice climbing just a bit and betraying the awkwardness behind it. “How are you finding London?”

Jon furrowed his brow, staring hard at the snow. That should be a simple question with a pleasantry for an answer, but he found other words forming in his mouth. 

“I’m not so sure I like it,” Jon said, immediately aware of what a negative conversation starter that was and regretting it wholeheartedly. 

Martin simply turned his head toward him with wide eyes. “Really?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Sometimes it feels utterly alive, like it’s trying to swallow me up until I disappear. Other times it feels already dead. It feels like a civilization that’s outstayed its welcome and we’re all just waiting for it to crumble underneath us.”

A brief lull fell, broken by a small laugh from Martin. “Sorry,” he said. “You’re not wrong, I guess.” 

“I suppose you don’t agree,” Jon said, eyeing him sideways. 

Martin scrunched up his nose. “Well, no, not really. Actually, I sort of do, it's just that those very dramatic reasons you have for not liking it are what I love about it.” 

“You like feeling like a faceless stranger in a dying metropolis?” 

He shrugged. “Sort of, yeah.”

Another lull. Each time silence fell on them, Jon was always too slow to beat Martin to breaking it, mulling things he could say over and over in his head for far too long. Martin, though, seemed to always have something to say. Every time he opened his mouth, Jon tried not to look too visibly relieved of the pressure to keep up conversation. 

“It’s funny,” Martin said. “I never realized how lonely I was before I moved into a city on my own.”

“It can be rather isolating,” Jon agreed. 

He shook his head with an odd look about him. “No, sorry, I actually meant the opposite. I mean, I’d always lived with my mum before, and it was just us, and then she went to live… Well, she moved somewhere else and I moved to London, and suddenly there were people everywhere I went, people in the flats above and below me, people on the street, total strangers in the shops, and I was free to go explore someplace new whenever I wanted. No one asking questions about where I was going or needing anything from me, I could just... go be among them. Be a stranger’s face in someone else’s day. And that was invigorating, I’d never had that chance much before.” 

He paused for a moment, but continued before Jon could develop a response. 

“Sorry, that probably sounds very childish. But that’s just where I was at. That was a few years ago, anyway. I’ve just… really loved it here ever since.” 

Jon didn’t quite understand, to be honest. But Martin looked so at peace with his answer that he trusted it was true. More than that, he got the sense that Martin had just truly shared a piece of himself and it was beautiful. He wished he had something of equal value to offer. He settled on prompting Martin for more instead. 

“So did you… first come here for university?” Jon asked.

Martin froze beside him, ducking his head momentarily before directing his gaze back out the window. “Oh, I… actually didn’t go.”

“Oh,” Jon said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume--”

“No, it’s okay,” Martin said, tossing a small, sheepish smile his way. “You know, I actively planned not to tell you that tonight. I hope it doesn’t… make you think less of me or something.”

Jon looked at him, taken aback. “Why would it?” 

“Er…” He reached up to rub at his own neck with a blanket-covered hand. “Because I’m not actually qualified to be working at the Institute. I sort of… Wow, I really don’t know why I’m telling you this. I don’t even think Tim knows this, but I lied on my CV about having a master’s degree and it worked. Got me the job.” 

Jon huffed a laugh, feeling his own mouth quirk upward. Martin prattled on. 

“I just… You know, you’re in research, it’s highly academic and all that. And you’ve worked to get where you are and I haven’t.” 

Jon blinked at him. If he’d gathered one thing tonight it was that if he didn’t fill the silence soon, Martin would feel compelled to fill it himself. 

“I’m sorry you’ve been made to think that.” 

“It’s nothing you’ve said,” Martin rushed to say. 

“No, I just mean…” Jon shook his head. “I’m sorry anyone has made you feel that way. You’re obviously brilliant.” 

Martin laughed, but his smile faded just a bit when he glanced at Jon and saw how serious he was. 

“Anyway. You know, when I first moved here, I’d go on walks a lot,” Martin said. “Trying to get a feel for different neighborhoods and how to get around and all that. It helped a lot. I’d get lost and have to find my way back and I’d discover all these little pubs and cafes on my way… And I learned as long as I can get back to the river, I can find my way anywhere.” 

Jon nodded. “That’s a nice tip. I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”

“You’ll get it,” Martin said, leaving space for Jon to respond. When he didn’t, Martin continued, his voice a low, nonchalant melody. 

“I actually like to walk around at night,” he said. “The river just turns into something special at night, you know? You can see all the buildings and the lights reflected in it and sometimes it makes you feel like there’s this whole alternate universe down there, an upside-down London under the river, all the bridges and roads, an upside-down version of Battersea, an upside-down version of all the people…” He glanced over and Jon became aware he’d been staring intently as Martin talked. He quickly directed his eyes back out the window. “Sorry, that sounded really stupid. God, ignore me.”

“No,” Jon said. “I think that’s--I’ve never thought about that.”

“Well, yeah,” Martin laughed. “Why would you? It’s just the daft things I think up while I’m walking around on my own.” 

Silence again. Jon was intent to be the one to break it this time.

“Tim said you write poetry,” he finally said. 

Martin scoffed, a blush rising in his cheeks. “Of course he did,” he said, with a trace of fond bitterness. “I mean, barely. Not like I’ve ever done anything with it.”

“But… you write it?” 

“Yeah,” he said, ruefully. “Just for me as a method of processing, I guess.”

“I can hear it,” Jon said. “In the way you describe things.” 

“You…” Martin gave an incredulous laugh. “What?”

“You see things differently than I do,” Jon muttered. “I wish I could see the world that way.” 

Martin didn’t respond, but Jon thought he caught a glimpse of a minuscule smile on his lips. He then cleared his throat.

“Well, if we're sharing what Tim told us about each other, then I’ll tell you he said you were a bit of a cynic.” 

Jon gave a dry laugh. “Is that the word he used?” 

“I’m pretty sure.” 

“That’s rather kind of him,” he said. 

“Why do you say that?”

“He probably could have said worse.” 

Martin laughed, followed by a sigh. “Tim is…” He trailed off for a moment. “He means well, he really does. He has a heart of gold. But he can be a little much.” 

“Yes,” Jon said. “He must think I hate him, but I just don’t always know what to do with his type of personality.”

“He actually likes you a lot,” Martin said. “I mean, at least, he really talked you up to me, but maybe he had ulterior motives.” 

Jon shrugged the blanket up on his shoulders, pulling it tight. “For the record, I do enjoy Tim’s company, too. He’s the kind of friend I need.”

“Not the friend you want but the friend you deserve?”

“Something like that,” Jon said, and they both laughed. 

This time when a quiet fell, it lingered a bit longer than the others had. It gave Jon the chance to hear the sound, or the lack thereof, of the snow piling up on the windowsills and the cars just below. 

“I wish you liked it here,” Martin said suddenly, and when Jon turned to him, his face looked inordinately sad. 

Jon tossed a bitter glance over his shoulder. “If there’s something you see in this place that I don’t, please let me know.” 

“No, not the flat,” he said. “I mean London. I think it’s brilliant if you see it right.” 

“Well,” Jon said, after a laden pause. “I haven’t been here long. Maybe I could.” 

All conversations draw to a natural end and Jon felt something grip his chest as he realized how close this one edged to that point. This man was the warmest thing to ever grace this shithole of a flat, unmatched by any of the currently unavailable amenities. Jon knew he’d have to leave sometime, but he just didn’t want him to.

It finally occurred to him what felt so familiar about Martin, what he’d recognized in him earlier. It was the way he felt in the space between words, like he was gently reaching out an open hand but never daring to touch. Even more, he felt like an upturned palm, a gently offered opportunity to place one’s own in it if you so desired. No pressure added, but just the right amount of hope. 

This man loved London, but he _was_ lonely here. He was just as lonely as Jon, and just as quietly trying to hide it. 

Martin shifted, peering out the window to try to gain an impossible vantage point to see the street. 

“I don’t reckon I could get a cab in this, huh?” he said. 

Jon grimaced. “Probably not.” 

Martin juggled the edges of his blanket around until he held it closed with one hand so he could pull out his phone to check the time. “Oh Christ, it’s late. I didn’t even notice. I probably should have thought about this a bit more now that I’ve got to go out in that again.”

“You could stay here,” Jon blurted out, before he thought about it too hard.

Martin glanced at him and then around the sparse living room. “But you don’t have a--”

“I know,” he said. “I mean, there’s room for both of us in my bed.”

“Oh,” Martin squeaked. 

“And it’s like you said,” Jon added. “What’s the point of us both freezing our arses off in different flats when we could at least... not be alone?” 

“I don’t want to overstep, I’m--” 

“You’re not overstepping,” Jon assured him. “I’m inviting you.”

“I--Jon, are you sure?” 

“It’s definitely gotten worse out there. I’d feel like a monster sending you home.” 

Martin stared at him, capturing his eyes like he was searching for a trick or a lie. He then gave one single nod. “Alright.” 

Jon smiled, trying to tamp down how pleased he felt. 

“Right,” he said. “We might as well get under the covers, then.” 

They both grabbed a few candles and moved to the bedroom, placing them down on Jon’s dresser and the sole side table that accompanied his bed. Thank god he’d recently found a secondhand bed frame that wasn’t half bad, saving himself the embarrassment of offering this man a mattress on the floor. 

Jon couldn’t remember the last time he’d welcomed someone into his bed, and he thought it had to have been Georgie. He was suddenly painfully aware that this was a _date_ after all, and usually there was something to be expected when one invited their date to bed.

He didn’t usually have to have this conversation on first dates. To be fair, he hadn’t really been on a first date since he’d acquired the language to describe this part of himself. He needed to do it, just in case Martin had read this entirely different than he’d meant it. 

Martin seemed to be hovering by, waiting for his cue, casting his eyes to the ground until Jon spoke up. 

“Um, Martin,” he began, his throat promptly going dry. “I--I know I offered the bed, but I just--I, er, I don’t, I don’t necessarily… I want you to know that it’s not something I do--”

“Hey,” Martin said, looking up eagerly and saving him from the incoherent ramble he was heading for. “I’m really not expecting anything, I promise. I guarantee that if anything, we’re going to be adding layers, not losing them.”

Jon let out a relieved laugh, hugging his own arms around himself. He barely had to get to the awkward part. “That’s true. I should--er, speaking of layers, I’m not sure I have much that would fit you, but let me see what I can find.”

He ransacked his drawers, coming up with a few oversized jumpers that looked like they might just barely fit Martin, and would certainly be snug at that. 

He held them out. “There’s plenty of socks, too,” Jon offered weakly. 

Martin laughed as he shucked off his own jumper so he could layer Jon’s smaller one underneath it. “This will be fine. I’ll just pile on the blankets.” 

Jon nodded, wishing he had anything else he could provide. He threw on a thick hoodie of his own before slipping under the covers, and Martin soon followed. Jon settled flat on his back, hands folded over his chest, staring at the dark abyss of the ceiling. 

As he was wont to do, Martin piped up in the silence. 

“When whole neighborhoods go out like this, what happens at… God, like, hospitals?”

“Well, they have backup generators and whatnot, but it…” He caught himself before launching into any more educated guesses about how hospitals work in a blackout. “It can’t be good.”

“Yeah,” Martin said, contemplative. He then shook his head, merely an audible shuffle in the darkness. “Sorry, that was morbid.” 

“No, I don’t… mind morbid.” Jon said, and then grimaced to himself. “That sounded bad. Not that I--I don’t seek out morbid, but I don’t, I don’t mind talking about, um…” 

Martin laughed. “I get it,” he said, with a brush of fabric that sounded like a shrug. “I’d say I’m the same way. More melancholy for me, though… I don’t know. I think I find beauty in that sort of thing a lot. I’ve spent--” He paused as if he’d stopped himself from saying something. 

“Er, here I go getting morbid again,” he said with a small laugh, carrying on in a measured, casual tone. “But my mum’s sick, has been for a while, so I spend a lot of time in hospitals with her. They can be depressing but they can also be… sort of peaceful at times. Like late at night in certain wards, when everyone there is asleep except for the nurses and the staff and you just think, every heart in this place is just beating until it’s not, you know? Some of them are there desperately fighting for each pump of blood and others are there by their sides, perfectly fine but quietly wishing they could give it all away for someone else’s heart to beat normal like theirs… Oh god, sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble again.

“No,” Jon said quickly. “No, I… I can see what you mean.” 

“I’m sorry if I’ve talked too much tonight,” Martin said. “I always do that on first dates. It’s a problem.”

Jon shook his head. “It’s not a problem at all. Not for me, it’s… It’s nice to have someone.” 

“Yeah,” Martin muttered after a moment. “I feel that too.” 

The walls of this building weren’t so thick that they kept out noises from the street on a regular day, cars whizzing past and buses and the occasional minor shouting match. There was none of that tonight. The blankets of snow outside ushered in a muted din, settling all around them and disrupted only by the intermittent howl of wind. 

Despite the layers and layers between them, Jon felt that this man was undeniably warm and he couldn’t tell if it was his actual body heat or simply his own perception colored by whatever it was he’d begun to feel about him. All he could think about was being wrapped up in Martin’s arms. On one hand, it was a simple need to seek out more heat, but also an overwhelming desire to be closer, much closer, as close as Martin would let him. 

He _could_ ask. But that felt far too strange, an unusual request. People didn’t ask to be held on first dates. What they did ask for was… Jon considered it. 

He was promptly overtaken by a wave of realization. He absolutely did want to kiss this man if that was a possibility. And if that was the more normal step to take and would, if successful, get him in his arms, then he was all too willing to take the risk. 

Jon turned over on his side to find Martin already facing him. 

“Could I… Would it be alright if I…”

“Yes?” Martin said. 

“If it’s not too--could I kiss you?” 

Jon heard a sharp intake of breath and then utter stillness. 

He’d cocked it up for good now. Against all odds, he’d lasted this long, kept this lovely man talking and smiling in his horrible, frozen little flat, and he had to go and say the one thing that ran the risk of tearing it all down. All that tentative talk of boundaries before they got in bed and here he was asking for a kiss? He opened his mouth to withdraw the offer, hoping to salvage the night so they could just try to sleep, but was cut short. 

“Yeah,” Martin breathed, sounding utterly surprised, and maybe a bit relieved somehow. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” he said again. 

Jon hadn’t realized how close they were actually laying until he went to cross the distance. He slowly placed a hand on Martin’s cheek, guiding himself through the dark to find his lips with his own. Martin met him eagerly, and in an instant, Jon knew he’d been right. Sure, his lips were cold and chapped, but his breath was warm and his face was rapidly heating beneath his touch. More than that, he was unbelievably soft and Jon wanted to rest on him like a pillow. 

Jon pulled back and stared blankly at him, his eyes straining to see more and more of the face that was barely a hair away from his own. 

“Your hand is cold,” Martin said, and Jon nearly snapped his arm back away from his face before Martin caught it to keep it where it was. “I’m joking, Jon,” he said. “Everything’s cold.”

“Right,” he breathed. 

“That was nice,” Martin said. “I was actually trying to work up the nerve to ask you the same.” 

“Really?” Jon marveled. 

“Yeah, I mean, I guess I wouldn’t usually on a first date unless I really felt a connection, so… I wanted to.” 

“I did too,” Jon said, hearing his own voice come out high and airy. 

“Well, yeah,” Martin laughed. “You’re the one that asked.”

“I--I did.”

Martin reached a hand out and ran it down the length of Jon’s arm until it found his hand, lacing their fingers together. 

“You know, this has been the weirdest first date of my life but I’d really like to do it again,” he said. “I mean--not exactly like this, if we can help it. Maybe next time we’ll go somewhere with heating and lights.” 

Jon chuckled, feeling like his lungs might burst. “Yes, I’d… I would really like that, Martin.”

“Okay,” he said. “Cool.” 

And then, Martin lifted his arm as if to make a spot for Jon to roll into. He did, keeping his movements as subdued as possible as he rushed to nestle close to Martin’s chest. He slid his own arm around Martin’s back to offer what he could in terms of sharing warmth, though he knew he’d gotten the better end of this deal by far. 

“Still wouldn’t call it warm, but this is much better,” Martin muttered, contented. 

“Much.” 

Jon drifted off to sleep contemplating what Martin would look like in the icy white sunlight of the new day when they woke. 

**Author's Note:**

> In this world, Martin will make fun of Jon for years to come for how silly he was for inviting him over to the world’s saddest bachelor pad for a first date  
> And Jon makes fun of him right back for not cancelling and walking over in a fucking snow storm just to meet some weird little man he was told very well might be mean to him
> 
> I have a [shitty little twitter](https://twitter.com/pantsoflobster) if you want to talk to me!!


End file.
